


Chaos and Kirkwall

by InyrilJace



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Flirting, Gangs, Sassy Hawke, Smitten Anders
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-30
Updated: 2018-05-22
Packaged: 2018-09-13 09:20:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 14,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9117472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InyrilJace/pseuds/InyrilJace
Summary: For Anders, working in his free clinic is the only way an apostate like him can hope to make a change whilst staying free. He just wants to drift under the radar, avoid drawing attention, and do what he can to help people.Enter Marian Hawke, a whirlwind of flirtation, sassy quips and belligerent trouble. Anders knows he should keep his distance, knows that nothing good can come of any alliance between them. Yet she wields a power that he could never reach on his own, and before he knows it, the temptation of that power becomes too strong to resist.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! Thanks for stopping by and checking out this little fic of mine. I would love to say that it will be regularly updated but unfortunately, due to my ridiculous life schedule, updates will most likely be sporadic. Still, if you like sassy Hawke and smitten Anders, this is the fic for you!

The small bell above the entrance rattled as the door swung open. The clapper had long since fallen out of the bell, leaving it to clunk hollowly in a sad echo of thin metal. Many barely even noticed it. Anders, attuned to every small nuance of the clinic, looked up as the bell let out its pitiful song.  

Two women hurriedly spilled inside, one leaning heavily upon the other. Anders was already moving out from behind his desk as they rushed toward him.  

"What's wrong?" he asked, directing them to an examination table without hesitation.  

"We were attacked," the older woman said. "Bethany was hurt badly. She needs healing, magical healing!" 

Anders faltered where he stood, a latex glove half-on his left hand. His heart pounded frantically in his veins but he kept his expression carefully schooled, a frown creasing his brow as he looked up at them.  

"I'm sorry, magical healing? You should take her to a Circle-licenced hospital, not a clinic like this. I'm not a mage, just a simple person trying to make a difference. If she does need magical healing then I cannot help you." 

He could do this, he could play the empathetic but innocent act. He had done it before, turning away Templar spies that tried to weasel him out. These two would be no different. No matter how they begged and pleaded, Anders could not give in to them.  

"You have to! We've heard stories about this clinic, we've heard about what you can do! We need your help." 

"I really can't-" 

"Please." The wounded woman was shaking as she reached out to him. Anders gasped as she touched his arm, a small jolt of what could only be latent magical energy passing into him. "I can't go there. They'll find out what I am. After all this time, I don't want to give up my freedom."  

Her brown eyes cut into him, beseeching him until Anders felt his resolve wavering.  

"You're an apostate?" he asked softly and she nodded.  

"And we want to keep it that way," said the other woman seriously. "Now help her, please. Her wound is serious and she is pathetic at healing magic."  

"Marian," protested Bethany with a roll of her eyes.  

"It's true, you are." 

Anders shook his head and finished pulling on his gloves. Was he really going to do this? After all his bad experiences with Templar spies, was he really willing to risk it all on these two women? They were probably dangerous! But if they were not and he sent them away, Anders would hate himself.  

"Let's see the wound first."  

Bethany pulled away a hastily-tied jacket from around her left thigh, revealing a deep and ugly gash. Blood spilled thickly and Anders caught himself casting a mild healing spell on reflex. That level of bleeding was a serious concern and he gently probed at the injury. Bethany made a noise of disgust and pain, turning her head away.  

"How bad is it?" asked Marian.  

"Not as bad as it looks. None of the tendons or major arteries are damaged. It's simply a case of cleansing the wound, putting some stitches in and letting her rest to recover from the blood loss."  

"That's it?" Marian sounded surprised and Anders shot her a reassuring glance.  

"Believe me, I've seen far worse. Now, to avoid using internal stitches I'll … use my magic to heal some of the wound. But the rest-"  

"It's okay if you don't heal all of it," Bethany said. "If word gets out about our fight, I'll be less suspicious if I'm still sporting an injury." 

"Fight? I thought you said you were attacked."  

The two women exchanged a glance and Anders felt a cold weight settle in the bottom of his stomach. Of course they were spies, he should have known better! He tensed, letting his magic fill his veins as he glanced back at his staff. It was hidden from view by a shelf but he should be able to get to it in time if only he just-  

"We _were_ attacked," Marian said and Anders whipped his eyes back to her. "And we defended ourselves. As to whether the fight was provoked or not …" She glanced at Bethany who failed to suppress a small smile.  

Anders frowned at them. None of this was quite adding up. Any spies would have tried to attack him by now, so why were they sharing guilty smiles and shifting awkwardly? It hit him all of a sudden and he felt stupid for not having thought of this before.  

Thugs. They were street thugs.  

"You're not spies for the Templars, are you?" Anders asked bluntly. The two women stared at him incredulously.  

"Spies?" echoed Bethany. 

"Of course not!" Marian protested. "We simply have a proclivity for … oh, how would you describe it?"  

"Trouble?" offered Bethany. 

"Yes, exactly. Trouble!" 

Anders shook his head as relief washed through his body. No spies would be as sheepish yet cheeky in their interactions with him. If Marian and Bethany were lying to him, they were doing an incredible job of it. Yet Anders' instincts were relaxing more and more in their presence. Somehow, he knew these two were no threat to him.  

"Well, that's reassuring. Trouble, I can deal with." Flashing a wry smile, Anders turned his attention back to Bethany's wound. It was a simple task to slow the bleeding, heal the worst of the internal damage and stitch it up. Marian hovered over his shoulder, watching intently. Bethany refused to look, her skin taking on quite a pale shade until Anders urged her to lie down. Half an hour after they entered his clinic, Bethany was standing up despite Anders' protests that she should stay and rest a while.  

"Really. You've done more than enough," Marian said as Bethany leant heavily on her.  

"It's best we get out of your hair. We wouldn't want to bring the fight into your clinic," Bethany added. 

"Are you sure you'll be alright?" Anders asked. "If there are still people after you-" 

"Believe me, this isn't the first tight spot we've been in." Marian flashed a smile and Anders felt a small knot growing in the pit of his stomach. "Now, how much do we owe you?" 

"Nothing." He held up a hand as Marian opened her mouth to protest. "It's a free clinic, not a hospital. Just take care of yourselves and that will be payment enough."  

Marian relented and nodded. Tightening her arm around Bethany's waist, she turned towards the door.  

"Thank you, uh-" 

"Anders." 

Thank you, Anders." 

And they were gone. Anders stared after them a moment before catching himself and directing his attention onto cleaning up the mess from Bethany's wound. Something clinked as he shifted the spare bandages and he stared down in disbelief. A small pile of money had been left there and Anders knew without being told who had left it.  

But when? He had been watching them both closely and he had not seen Marian even shift her weight in the direction of the spare bandages!  

Letting a wry smile cross his face, Anders shook his head and concentrated on his work again. He was probably better off not knowing.  


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Hanged Man was highly disreputable and that was exactly why Hawke loved it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Introducing one of my absolute favourite characters in this chapter and giving a tiny bit more backstory/world setting as well. Enjoy!

"Athenril's been sending runners over our turf again. No violence yet but it's inevitable."  

"Athenril is not looking for a fight, she's probably just trying to get my attention," Hawke replied lazily. Her feet were kicked up on the table in front of her, a pint of beer in one hand and a small dagger in the other.  

"You sure that's all she's trying to do?" retorted the dwarf across from her. Varric was sarcastic, witty and as sharp with his words as he was with his smirks. He was also shrewd, normally making him an excellent judge of character. Yet in this case, Hawke felt confident in her assessment.  

"Completely sure. If Athenril wanted to steal territory from us, she'd invite me to dinner and send some of her lackeys to infiltrate our base on the same night. That's how she works, smiling to your face while her left hand rips the floor out from underneath you." 

"You make her sound so charming," Varric said and Hawke grinned.  

"When she wants to be. Honestly, she's still bitter that I used the money I made from my jobs with her to scratch out some territory of my own. And we're thriving, always rising in power. She thinks I'll be making a bid for her regions soon, which is ridiculous. I've got enough right here; my hands are already full! I'd need to take on more workers to expand but that would give you more work to do. And we both know how much I'd hate to overwork your precious brain!"  

"I don't know whether to be insulted or flattered," Varric said with a wry smile.  

"It's a talent of mine," Hawke declared and raised her glass. "To us and our witty words of wonder!" 

"I'll accept the toast, but only to shut you up."  

They clinked glasses and both tossed back a deep swig. Varric returned to making errant notes in his ridiculously messy ledger. Hawke had no idea how he kept track of anything in there, yet Varric insisted there was a method to his madness. Turning away from her good friend, Hawke scanned her gaze across the room. 

They were in an old pub, wall plaster cracked and peeling, lights dim and flickering or failing to come on at all. All the furniture was wooden and had seen better days; most had been patched back together several times. The place was too dismal to even call a dive bar, the air fumed with constant undertones of stale alcohol, sweat, and even a little piss.  

The Hanged Man was highly disreputable and that was exactly why Hawke loved it.  

Her eyes landed on her sister as she learnt against the bar, chatting happily with some of the lower gang members. Bethany smiled and laughed freely, utterly oblivious to the lustful gazes being sent her way.  

Hawke sighed and flipped the dagger in her hand. When was her sister going to learn? 

The dagger flashed out of her fingers with alarming speed, slapping across the wandering hand of the man closest to Bethany and thudding into the wood of the bar. The man cried out, both in alarm and pain. The blade had left a slice across the back of his hand and he clutched his wrist, staring in shock as blood dripped freely. 

"Marian!" cried Bethany in horror, quickly snatching some napkins off the bar to staunch the blood flow.  

"What?" she replied in her best innocent voice, feigning wide-eyed confusion.  

"I thought I told you to stop doing things like this!" Bethany scolded and Hawke rolled her eyes. 

"And I've warned everyone in here against getting frisky around my baby sister."  

"I'm not a baby! And he wasn’t getting frisky!"  

Hawke snorted and Varric covered his face to hide a smile.  

"Sure, that’s why his hand just happened to be reaching for your-" 

"Marian!"  

She laughed freely now, ignoring the scowls that her sister kept shooting her. Bethany murmured an apology to the man and tried to summon some healing magic into the wound. Yet Bethany's skill truly did not lie in healing, and her efforts made little difference.  

"That's something else we need," Hawke said as she watched her sister.  

"Hmm?" came Varric's distracted reply.  

"A healer." Varric looked up now and Hawke motioned to the scene at the bar. "Look. She's pathetic! Can't even heal a tiny scratch like that!"  

"Don't let her hear you saying that," Varric warned. "She might not be able to heal but she can roast you from a mile away!" 

"Such a shame she wouldn't be able to heal me afterwards, otherwise I'd be tempted to let her." 

"You know I've been telling you this for a while now?" 

"What?"  

"This! To get a healer!" Varric sighed and laid down his pen. "I told you with the rate that we're bringing in casualties, you need someone on site. At least on call, if you don't want them on site all the time! Why is it you don't listen when it's my idea, but as soon as it's your idea you're willing to go ahead with it?" 

"Timing, Varric! It all comes down to timing!" Hawke clinked her glass against his, hiding a snicker when some of the beer slopped over the edge and narrowly missed his precious ledger. Varric shot her a glare but there was no heat in it – only sharp curiosity.  

"You wouldn't be bringing this up now if you didn't have a solution in mind. Which means you already know of a healer."  

"Remember when we got into that tousle with the smugglers last week? Bethany took a bad gash to her leg?" she asked, drumming a finger on the side of her glass. 

"Oh yeah. It took me hours to clean up that 'little mess', as you put it." Hawke flashed him a grin before continuing.  

"I took her to a healer that day, a free clinic. Just in Darktown, actually. He tried to play dumb at first but we weaseled the truth out of him. And he was competent, which is the most important thing, really. Maybe we could convince him to come on board with us."  

"So I take it I should be preparing another payment slot in the books?" Varric asked and Hawke gave him a wide grin.  

"Why not? It doesn't hurt to be prepared!" 

Varric snorted. 

"You say that now but judging by the trouble you manage to get yourself into, I wonder if you even know the meaning of 'prepared'." 

Hawke flicked her drink coaster at him before knocking back the last of her pint and dropping her feet off the table.  

"Well, I'm off then. No time like the present for recruiting!" 

"Just make sure the poor sod actually wants to be recruited before dragging him back here and announcing it to the whole gang," the dwarf warned. 

"Varric, what little faith you have in me! Of course he'll want to be recruited! By the time I'm through with him, how could he possibly say no?" Fluttering her eyelids and sashaying her hips, Hawke left Varric chuckling behind her. She smiled at Bethany, glared at the man with the wounded hand, then left the Hanged Man with an off-key whistle on her lips.  


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders reluctantly shook her hand, trying not to notice how perfectly her slim palm fit in his. She was a distraction, the worst timed distraction he had ever encountered!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little more action, a little more flirting.

Anders peered around the corner, heart thudding in his chest as he watched the Templars force their way into the clinic. The sleek silver of their body-armoured uniforms, the cold grips of the guns and tasers in their holsters … He shuddered, forcing the memories aside.

One Templar glanced back and he yanked away, breath frozen in his lungs as he flattened himself against the wall and waited, listening. He had been seen, surely he had been seen! The Templars would come for him, they would find him, and after all this time-

"Hey." A hand brushed his arm, friendly and innocent yet he was too blinded to see it. Anders lashed out, energy crackling through him as he pinned his attacker against the wall, his hand clamped tightly over their throat.

A woman stared back at him, wide-eyed and gasping for breath. Yet not entirely defenceless, Anders realised, as he looked down and saw the point of the dagger she had shoved against his side.

_Threat. She is a threat!_

No, he needed proof first! Anders looked her over, struggling for control. Her clothes were dark and non-descript, just a normal person's clothes. There was no gun, no hidden taser. No Templar insignia anywhere.

_Not a threat, Justice. She's not a threat!_

"Anders," she said, and though her voice was steady there was fear in her blue eyes. "Let me go. Now."

He let go and stepped back, hands shaking as he stared down at them. There was a crash from the clinic and he glanced over before dropping himself back against the wall beside her. Taking a deep breath, Anders slowly exhaled and felt his self-control coming back to him.

"You're that woman. From last week. You left me money," he said simply, voice a little unsteady.

"Yeah, I did. And I thought you were just a kind-hearted apostate. But it seems there's a lot more to you than meets the eye."

So, she had seen it, then. Anders cursed softly and shot her a side-long glance. The woman – Marian, that was her name – stared back at him with less fear now and more curiosity. But edged in caution. Her eyes flicked over his form, probably looking for the cracks that had been there moments ago. Then her eyes whipped back up to his own, and narrowed as she stared, intently.

"What happened to you just now?" she asked and Anders grimaced.

"As much as I would love to have this conversation, now is not exactly a good time," he said and peered around the corner again. The Templars were still in there, tossing things about carelessly and ruining his carefully laid system. He felt his hands clench, felt the dull presence in the back of his head rise to a strong throbbing.

_Not here, not now!_

_But this is unjust!_

"Ooh, Templars," Marian said as she leaned around him. Anders reared back, pulling her with him and pushing her further away. "You're that good at making friends, huh?"

"You should go," Anders said firmly. "Before anyone notices, leave."

"Why would I leave when I have not gotten what I came here for, yet?"

He glared at her, feeling frustrated now. Anders did not want to be distracted by this cocky young woman, he wanted to focus on these Templars and how to avoid encountering them.

"C'mon, let's get out of here," Marian said and tugged on his arm. "You probably shouldn't hang around waiting for them to come out. I mean, I'm assuming they're looking for you. So let's go. Come back in a little while and they'll be long gone."

"I can't just leave my clinic!" he hissed, annoyed by the mere suggestion. Marian sighed but Anders had already turned away, watching the Templars again.

"There's nothing here," came a faint Templar voice. "No sign of magic use anywhere."

"Are you certain?" asked another voice, deeper and older than the first. "Be absolutely certain! We cannot afford to make any mistakes.

"No sir, there's nothing. No lyrium anywhere."

The voices faded and Anders longed to drift closer and overhear more, but that would be far too foolish. He pulled back again and heaved a sigh, relieved yet still rattled.

This was not the first time the Templars had found and searched his clinic. He doubted it would be the last.

"Can we go yet?" Marian asked and he jumped, surprised that she was still there.

"Why would I go anywhere with you?" Anders asked.

"I'm not a Templar, for starters. And I have an offer for you. An offer that would ensure you don't have to worry so much about things like Templars."

Anders stared at her, utterly bewildered and struggling to refocus his distracted mind.

"I'm sorry, uh-"

"Hawke," she said and offered a hand.

"Hawke? I thought that other girl called you Marian?"

"She did. Marian is my first name. But people outside the family call me Hawke."

Anders reluctantly shook her hand, trying not to notice how perfectly her slim palm fit in his. She was a distraction, the worst timed distraction he had ever encountered! If only he wasn't hiding around the corner as Templars trashed his clinic, he would love to have a conversation with a beautiful-

"Wait, did you say _Hawke?_ " he asked, eyes widening at the notion. She smirked, crinkling the red paint that was smeared across her nose.

Why did she have red paint smeared across her nose and why had he not questioned this before?

"I was beginning to wonder how long you'd been in Darktown, if you hadn't heard of Hawke," she replied. "Good to see my reputation still precedes me. So, what do you say? Got five minutes of time to spare for me?"

"Uhh …" Anders stared at her, completely thrown by this revelation. Hawke, she was _the Hawke?_ He had heard the talk – everyone in Darktown and even Lowtown had! Hawke had shown up one day and staked out some territory, right in the middle of the three largest, most violent gangs in Lowtown. Within a month, one gang had up and left, one had assimilated under Hawke's leadership, and the third had been slaughtered.

The only thing Anders knew for certain about Hawke was that Hawke was volatile, fearless, and destined to command power. And now here she was, standing right before him and waiting for an answer.

"I … guess?" he finally said and Hawke flashed her blinding white smile at him.

"Great. Let's go!"

She seized his hand and dragged him away before he could change his mind. Anders stumbled after her, thoughts still trying to catch up as he glanced over his shoulder again and again, half-convinced that the Templars would show up right now and arrest him.

Hawke led him through the narrow, fetid streets of Darktown, to a small lean-to on the side of a brick building. The bricks were crumbling and the iron of the lean-to looked almost completely rusted through, but there was still a woman standing behind a dilapidated bench and serving drinks out of it. Hawke bought two coffees, shoved one in Anders' hand, then motioned for them to sit on two sagging milk crates that had been kicked aside.

"You do know that the coffee down here tastes worse than piss, right?" Anders asked her with a dubious expression on his face. Hawke smiled again and knocked half the drink back in one go.

"I know. But I don't like it when Evelina begs for money and she doesn't like accepting charity, so I always buy her drinks. Even if they do taste worse than piss." She tipped the remainder of her drink onto the ground before placing the cup down gently beside the crate.

"You wanted something from me?" Anders asked, trying to focus on the task at hand. His mind felt unbelievably scattered right now and he wished Justice would help keep him on track for once. Unfortunately, Justice always seemed more disposed to distracting rather than helping.

"I did," Hawke agreed and leant forward, resting her arms on her knees. "You know who I am, which saves me the trouble of explaining. And I know what you are, for the most part. I also know of your skill as a healer, especially after firsthand experience. Now it seems to me that my … organisation, let's call it, could benefit from the skills that one such as yourself would bring."

"I'm not looking to join a gang," Anders said firmly. "I've been trying to avoid that since I first ended up in this hole."

"Calling my organisation a gang is so crude," Hawke protested. "We are nothing like those half-rate gangs that spill blood at the slightest provocation and care nothing for the innocents caught in between. Our focus is the people of Lowtown and Darktown. It always has been. We're not a gang, Anders. We're a revolution."

There was a spark in her bright blue eyes, a shining light of passion and conviction that called to him. Anders wanted to believe – it would be so wonderful to believe – but he had been burned in the past and was not willing to risk himself now.

Even if Justice was stirring inside him, urging him to listen to her.

"What you want me to get involved with is highly illegal."

Hawke snorted in amusement.

"Like being an unlicenced spirit healer and undocumented Fereldan immigrant isn't illegal? Please Anders, don't insult me by pretending the illegality is what's stopping you."

"I already told you, I don't want to get involved with any gangs. And you told me yourself about your proclivity for trouble."

"Touché," she admitted and sat back, an assessing look on her face. "Alright. I can see I won't win you over so easily. How about this? As one of my crew you will receive payment in both coin and goods, along with protection from forces such as Templars."

"How can you guarantee something like protection? You're not exactly above the law."

"Well, why don't we put my protection to the test, hmm? Evening, Templars!"

Anders flinched, eyes widening in horror as his head swivelled around to look behind him. There, approaching from the direction of his clinic, were half a dozen Templars. Their weapons were holstered but they were still _right there_ , in easy reach if any of them suspected what he was. Anders did not want to take that chance.

"Are you insane?" he hissed, fear coiling in his gut. Justice was stirring now, pressing hard and resurrecting that throbbing headache once again. Hawke simply shot him another smile and waved to the Templars, who had turned and were now approaching them.

No. Oh, no, this was not going to end well! Justice fought harder for control, anger burning in him and Anders struggled to contain him. After all this time, he would not give up so easily! Neither to the Templars or Justice!

"Let me guess, just minding your own business, Hawke?" asked the first Templar, an older man with a mean sneer on his face.

"Of course! You know me, I love to come down to Darktown and relax. Really clears out the sinuses, you know?"

"And who's your friend? Someone totally innocent, I suppose?" The sarcasm in the Templar's words were so heavy that Anders nearly shuddered on reflex.

"He is, actually!" Hawke declared and reached out, lacing her fingers through his. Anders was too close to panicking to look scared or shoot her any confused glances. He simply stared up at the Templars, hand gradually tightening on hers. "We've just been wandering around, enjoying a nice evening out together."

The first Templar narrowed his eyes.

"Haven't seen you around here before," he said to Anders. "I'm guessing you haven't been scanned or had your papers checked, either."

Anders' heart rate rocketed and he could feel Justice underneath his skin, straining to get out. Any moment now the cracks would form and his eyes would blaze with other-worldly power. He would rage and scream and attack, slaughtering a whole squad of Templars and thus bringing the ire of the Gallows down upon himself.

Hawke's hand tightened on his.

"Now, now, Ser Alrik. You wouldn't want to go and ruin a lovely evening like this, would you?"

_Ser Alrik? Dear Maker, she's thrown me straight into the lion's jaws!_

The Templar glared at Anders, a sharp response hiding behind his bared teeth. But then he looked away, glowering at Hawke with pure hatred.

"I've seen your face, boy," he said, eyes flicking back to Anders. "Best be sure I never have cause to see it again!"

The Templars turned and marched away, Ser Alrik leading them with a rigid posture.

"Bye! Have a nice patrol!" Hawke called after them before turning back to Anders. "See? I told you. Absolutely nothing to worry about."

"Nothing to worry about?" He yanked his hand away, cursing sharply as he trembled. "You … you just … That was … He's seen my face now! Don't you know what you've done? He'll come back for me!"

"Anders, hey! Calm down. As far as he's concerned, you're under my protection now. Which means he can't touch you. He knows that and he won't."

"Don't you know who that was?" Anders snapped, his voice rising with hysteria. "Ser Otto Alrik, most vile and cruel Templar under Meredith's command! He won't let _your protection_ stop him from coming back for me! He never lets anything stop him!"

"In the past six months I have successfully prevented Alrik from taking no less than eleven apostates off the streets," Hawke shot back. "He is powerful, yes, but he cannot contend with me. Not without orders from the Knight Commander, and she doesn't care enough about Darktown to approve his requests."

"But …" He stared around, searching for the words. He was still shaking, his nerves shot to hell. "How … how does this work?"

Hawke smiled and gently laid her hand over his again.

"I'll explain, in time. But for now I think you could use a drink. So why don't you come back with me and we can sort out the finer details over a few rounds. Hmm?"

Exhaling a heavy breath, Anders slowly nodded. He was not sure that being around Hawke was good for his well being, yet he did not feel safe enough to return to the clinic right now. Not after what she had done. So he would go with her, just this once. But he was not agreeing to anything. He nodded again and absently lifted the coffee to his lips and took a small sip.

Sputtering, he spat it out and dropped the cup. Hawke laughed.

"Come on, let's go get something to wash the piss taste out of your mouth!"

As she tugged him along by the hand once again, Anders stared down at her gentle grip and wondered why he let himself get dragged into these things.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He shifted again, gaze hurriedly dropping. But for a split second, Hawke could have sworn she saw a flash of blue.

Anders was … skittish. He held his broad shoulders tight, as though always expecting an unseen attack to come at him, and his eyes roved constantly, searching every shadow they alighted on. His ragged hair was haphazardly pulled back into a less-than-effective ponytail, golden wisps of it falling free to frame his angular face.

Hawke tore her eyes away, mentally scolding herself for staring as long as she had. It wasn't professional!

They reached Lowtown just as the stars were coming out, barely visible through the thick smog that covered the slums from the industrial area. Anders hesitated for a moment but Hawke pulled him on.

"Not much further," she said in a bright voice. Striding down winding alleys and crooked streets, she led him straight to the entrance of the Hanged Man, pushing the heavy door open with one shoulder to usher him in.

"What is this place?" Anders asked as he ducked his head to avoid the low doorframe.

"Oh, please. Don't tell me you've been in Kirkwall all this time and you've never visited the Hanged Man?"

"I don't really get much chance to get out of Darktown, so …"

Hawke shot him another glance, mentally reassessing him. Anders seemed the kind of person to be vocal about his passions, and to have political passions. But if he never made it out of Darktown, not even to Lowtown, maybe he was not as much of an activist as she had taken him for.

"C'mon, let me get you a drink. Corff! Two right here, straight up!" she called to the bartender before sitting at a small round table. Anders sat opposite her, rubbing his hands nervously on his jeans as he glanced around.

"I wouldn't happen to have been led straight into your organisation's headquarters, would I?" he asked in a low voice and Hawke raised her eyebrows.

 _Sharper than he wants me to know,_ she thought to herself.

"You would, actually," she confirmed before smiling up at Norah as she delivered the drinks. The waitress ignored her, just like always, dumping the drinks and stalking away with a scowl on her face. Anders picked his own up with barely a glance at it, his focus drawn away to examine the pub. "This is our base of operations. It's still a functioning pub, but Varric owns the place and he's my bookkeeper, so this is where we work from. It's convenient, really, being able to come straight back to a cold drink after a rough day."

"I thought you said you were going to find me something to get _rid_ of the piss taste," Anders said, hurriedly lowering his drink as he grimaced. Hawke grinned.

"Trust me, it'll grow on you."

"I don't think I want to be here long enough for that to happen." He looked up then, their eyes meeting through the dim light of the pub. Hawke felt her breath catch in her throat; his eyes seemed positively molten as the golden bulb behind her reflected in his irises. His skin, which had seemed sallow and thin outside, now glowed with warm tones, stripping years off his face.

She forced herself to look out across the pub, fighting back the hints of a blush that threatened to rise up her neck. What was wrong with her, on the verge of turning scarlet just from looking at a man, like she was thirteen years old all over again!

"So, uh, weren't you going to explain some things to me?" Anders prompted and Hawke nodded, grateful as the moment shattered.

"The truth of the matter is that my organisation needs a healer. We've got a few mages in our number, my sister being one of them. But none of them are healers of any repute, let alone a spirit healer like yourself."

He looked down, shifting uncomfortably on his seat.

"Hey, relax. I'm not going to turn you in. You're no use to me in the Gallows." His head jerked back up at that. "You're useful to me here, aiding the people in my care. In exchange, I'll protect you from the Templars and from any gangs putting pressure on you. I'm sure I'm not the only one who's figured out that the free clinic in Darktown is run by a talented apostate!"

"You still haven't explained _how_ you plan to protect me," Anders said, his eyes narrowing a fraction. "What could you possibly do or say to convince the Templars to leave me alone?"

"False papers, for starters," Hawke said and took another swig of her drink. "You're a Fereldan immigrant, that much is obvious. And I'm sure that Alrik was right when he assumed you hadn't been scanned or had your papers checked."

He shifted again, gaze hurriedly dropping. But for a split second, Hawke could have sworn she saw a flash of blue.

"Work for me and I'll ensure that your papers are the most legitimate ones that Alrik has ever seen, as if he had signed them himself! As for the gangs, well, as soon as word gets out that you're part of the crew, the gangs will know well enough to leave you alone."

"That's still not really telling me anything," Anders said, slowly raising his eyes again but still seeming reluctant to hold her gaze. "How can you accomplish these things? Where do you get the funding? Drugs? Smuggling? Prostitution? But nothing in your reputation hints at any of those things. So, black market, then? But if you had such a powerful hand in the black market, the Carta would have a problem with you! The Carta doesn't stand for opposition, not even from someone like you."

She was smiling now, unable to help herself. Hawke loved moments like this, loved being able to reveal her secrets at the right time. Anders stared at her in confusion, his brows knitting together and furrowing his forehead in a way that should not have been so adorable.

"No drugs, no smuggling, no prostitution. As for the Carta, well …" She glanced to the rear of the pub, where she could just see Varric's head in his usual booth. "My bookkeeper, Varric, liaises directly with the Carta for me. When I first arrived, you're right, they were a threat. But so were the Sharps Highwaymen and we obliterated them. Once the Carta saw what we were capable of, they approached us with the offer of an alliance."

Anders stared at her, jaw slack in disbelief.

"You're saying … technically speaking, I mean, the Carta works for _you?_ "

"They still retain ninety percent autonomy. But we have a few … restrictions in place, to ensure that they're not letting more filth into Kirkwall than I want. It's hard enough trying to clean up this city as it is without adding certain illegal substances into the mix."

Anders shook his head, obviously trying to digest this information. Hawke hid her smile behind her mug.

"That's how I'll provide protection in a physical sense. The Carta will send some people keep an eye on your clinic-"

"-Thus driving off any other gangs," he finished for her and she nodded.

"Exactly."

"Wow." Anders took a large gulp from his own drink, not wincing at the taste this time. "But what about your funding?" he asked. "You never answered my question about that."

"I think I've told you everything you need to know for now. Got to leave a little _mystery_ in the relationship," Hawke said, leaning forward to let her bright blue eyes pierce into him. She knew exactly how unsettling her gaze could be at times and she intended to make full use of it right now. "How about your turn? You feel like explaining to me what happened when I found you outside your clinic today?"

"No." His answer was sharp and abrupt, his expression closing off faster than she had anticipated. "You have no right to ask me of that."

"Oh, I think I do. If I'm extending all this effort and manpower to protect you, I need to be sure that you're deserving of my trust. I need to know you won't turn on me or someone from my organisation at the wrong moment. So?" Raising one eyebrow and drumming her fingers on the side of her mug, Hawke waited.

"I never said I was interested in your offer," Anders countered.

"You're still here," Hawke shot back. "You've had plenty of opportunities to get up and leave but you haven't. You've stayed right here, this entire time. C'mon Anders, we both know you want in. This is just a formality."

She had pushed too hard; she could see it in his eyes as he leant back and shook his head.

"No. I'm sorry but I'm not interested. Like I said earlier, I have no desire to get involved with any gangs. Thank you for the drinks, but I really should be getting back to my clinic."

Hawke was more disappointed than she should have been as she watched him stand up from the table and walk towards the door.

"If you change your mind," she called after him.

"I know where to find you," he said and nodded once, polite acknowledgement, before ducking his head under the doorframe and disappearing out into the dark night.

Hawke slouched in her seat and groaned, kicking her feet up on Anders' now-vacant chair. She heard movement behind her and a moment later, Varric was grinning to himself as he wandered towards the bar.

"What was that I said about making sure he wanted to be recruited before you dragged him back here?"

She swatted at him and he dodged out of the way, chuckling at her misfortune. She pushed her mug away, empty now, and reached for Anders' barely-touched mug. The door opened as she raised it to her lips and she stifled a groan as he brother's familiar sullen face came into view.

"Marian. Mother was expecting you home an hour ago," he called to her.

"Can't it wait?" she whined and Carver's face darkened.

"She wants you home, now!"

"Alright, alright!" Dragging herself up from the small table, Hawke reluctantly headed towards her brother. He muttered some rude comments as she drew closer but for once she was too distracted to snipe back at him. Her thoughts were full of a blond apostate healer, and the problem of how she could convince him to help her.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Let them go!" Anders shouted, feeling the anger burning through every vein in his body.

Anders sighed to himself as he picked up another bandage and began to re-roll it. A week after the templars had trashed his clinic and he was still tidying up bits and pieces. He had hoped to get it all back in order within a day or so, yet Darktown had been active lately and his number of patients had so increased that he could only snatch moments to re-order the clinic. 

So he prioritised. Medicines and implements first, everything else later. 

Now was one of those rare moments when he had a lull come over the clinic. Anders yawned into the back of his hand, put the bandage away and picked another one up. He had been working all night and now at nine thirty in the morning, he really should go lie down. 

But there were still bandages to roll and gauze pads to stack and saline bottles to check for perforations. This clinic needed him, and so he stayed despite the weariness that pulled at him. 

_This is a just cause._  

Anders could not even muster a hum of a response to the spirit. He knew Justice was happy when he was helping people, which was all the more reason to get the clinic in order rather than sleep. 

His mind began to drift as he worked and Anders found his thoughts returning to Hawke. He scowled, mentally chastising himself and trying to think of something – anything – else. 

Yet her face was lodged in his mind. The yellow lighting of the pub reflecting off her black hair, her smooth skin providing the perfect frame to those glowing, other-worldly blue eyes that had pierced straight through him- 

_She is a distraction._  

Anders snorted. 

_No kidding._  

_How does she aide our cause? She does nothing but distract and fog your mind. This is more hindrance than help._  

Anders sighed again, his mouth pressing into a thin line as he rubbed at his temples. _Our cause._ Sometimes he wished he had never made that deal with Justice, never promised what he had. He had been younger then – albeit not much younger, but even so – and filled with wild ideas. He was still passionate, there was no doubt about it. But he was tired. Anders felt as though he had never been so tired as he was right now. Sometimes he just wanted to forget all about their _cause_ and fall into a deep, long sleep. 

Justice stirred in him at that thought, offended. Anders tried to push his mind onto other things, onto the clinic. Angering Justice would not do him any good, it would only leave him more weary at the end. 

The hairs on the back of his neck prickled and he lifted his head right as the door to the clinic slammed open. Anders dropped the bandage, leaving it to unravel on the floor as he rushed out from the back storage area to see two figures running in, wild-eyed and bloodied. 

They were elves, little more than children. Their clothes were torn, feet bare and arms slick with blood. 

"Healer, please! Help us!" cried the first, his chest heaving in raw panic. The girl he clutched in his arms was pale and swaying, barely managing to stay upright. 

"What happened?" demanded Anders as he yanked some gloves on and came towards them. He could feel Justice in every fibre of his being, sharpening his senses and working alongside him rather than taking over him. 

"Please, you have to hide us!" begged the boy. "The Templars-" 

The door crashed open again, two Templars spilling in and instantly lunging for the children. The boy screamed and yanked away, trying to shield the girl with his body. But the Templars had them now, hands closing over their crimson-stained wrists to yank them forward. 

"Vile maleficars!" snapped one Templar. The boy flexed a hand and Anders saw now that the blood on the children was their own. The boy tried to use his magic, no matter the consequences, but the fist of a fully grown Templar snapped his head back and left him reeling. 

"Let them go!" Anders shouted, feeling the anger burning through every vein in his body. 

"Stay out of this, doctor!" warned the second Templar as he wrapped a hand around the girl's throat. She struggled, face rapidly reddening as she fought to breathe. "These two are dangerous blood mages! We have to put an end to them. Nothing you can do about it." 

Anders reached out blindly, his fingers searching along the underside of the examination table and quickly finding the simple wooden rod hidden there. 

"I said-" The rod whipped up, twirled once then slammed into the floor of the clinic, sending out a concussive shockwave, _"-Let them go!"_  

His voice was deep and raw now, his vision electric as he glared at the world through the eyes of Justice. The Templars staggered back, grips tightening on the children in fear. 

"Apostate!" cried the first. 

"No, abomination!" 

_"You will pay for your crimes!"_   

Justice lunged, ripping the boy from the first Templar's grasp with ease. He roared as he lifted his staff, blue lightning shooting out of it to slam into the Templar's body. The man screamed, falling on the ground as the lightning wreaked pain and seizures upon him. 

A faint cool sensation washed over him, like someone had thrown a bucket of water to douse an inferno. Justice turned his merciless rage onto the second Templar, slamming his staff into the ground again to send lightning burning through the floor and up the Templar's legs. 

_"You will never silence me!"_  

The girl fell from the Templar's grasp, a limp mess on the floor that coughed and sobbed but made no move to run away. 

Lowering the staff, Justice loomed forward to stand over the two Templars. They stared back at him, terror in their eyes even as they groped for their weapons. If they could get a shot off, if they could just buy themselves a little more time- 

The staff fell from his grip as he raised his hands. Justice did not need the focus of the staff, not this time. He roared with inhuman ferocity as he unleashed the full tempest of the Fade power that swirled within him. 

Screams rose in a crescendo that was music to his ears. Steam and smoke filled the clinic as blue lightning cracked and sizzled, leaving the air charged with the scent of ozone. When the screams faded away and the flesh had charred beyond recognition, Justice lowered his hands, chest heaving in victory as a smile twisted his face. 

_"Justice has been dealt!"_  

He retreated, taking the inhuman glow of the Fade and sealing the cracks he had made in his vessel's skin. Anders gasped, abruptly staggering and almost falling to his knees. 

His eyes fell upon the Templars and his stomach turned, yet he could not find it in himself to feel remorse. 

_They got what they deserved._  

He turned, remembering the children. The girl was still crying where she had fallen and the boy lay with his eyes rolled back, unconscious. Anders felt a stab of guilt then, for he had been the one to throw the boy back. It was his fault the boy was unconscious now. 

If the boy died, it would be on his head. 

"It's alright, it's alright!" Anders said as he hurried to the boy's side. "I'm here, I'm going to help!"

His hands were trembling as he lifted them and summoned his healing magic. The magic was slow to respond and Anders knew distantly that his body was exhausted. He needed to rest, or he would push himself too far and be of no use to anyone. 

Yet he had to help these children. He had to! So he focused harder, summoning the magic through sheer force of will, until the cool healing glow enveloped the boy and washed through his body. 

It took some time. There were cuts all over both the boy's arms from his use of blood magic, along with hefty bruising to his brain from being thrown. Not to mention a myriad of small internal injuries, no doubt left by the Templars. 

Anders was gasping for air and fighting dizziness when he finally stopped pouring his magic into the boy. His vision blurred as he stumbled towards the girl, who was paler than ever and watching him in pure fear. 

"It's alright," he mumbled and lifted his hands again. It was harder this time, so much harder than with the boy. Sweat dripped off his forehead and his lower lip trembled from the strain. 

"Justice, please!" he whispered in desperation. 

_I am here,_ rumbled the spirit, and then it was no strain at all. Justice swept through him, using his own power to fuel Anders' strength. The healing magic poured out of his hands, knitting together the girl's wounds before his very eyes. 

Justice retreated as the last injury was mended, and this time Anders collapsed. The floor was hot and rough against his cheek, not cool and soothing as he had expected. He took a few moments to try and recover some strength before pushing himself upright. 

When his vision stopped swimming, Anders was struck with horror. The clinic was ruined, black marks of lightning scars riddled across the floor, walls and ceiling. Parts of the floor had split open and chunks had fallen from the ceiling. Smoke still rose from the bodies of the Templars, and the full weight of what had happened abruptly slammed into him. 

He had killed two Templars, right here in his clinic. With his magic. With Justice. 

He would certainly be hunted by the Gallows now.

Gasping in fear, Anders staggered to his feet. The world dipped and spun but he clutched the side of the examination table, stubbornly keeping himself upright. He had to fix this! But how? As soon as the Templars realised there were two missing from their order, they would search every nook and cranny, persecuting even those who did not have magic to reach their goal. Who on earth could stand up against that? What hope did he possibly have- 

"Oh," he breathed. Snatching up his staff out of physical need more than an intent to use it, Anders rushed for the door and disappeared out into Darktown. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I know that my portrayal of Justice is different to canon. I know that in canon, Anders says Justice has completely become a part of him, to the point where he doesn't know what thoughts are his and what thoughts are Justice's. But I like the idea of them being able to converse to a degree, I like the premise of them retaining some kind of 'self'. Thus, my portrayal is different to canon. Hope you can all still enjoy it! :)


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke stared at them, her shock deepening as she recognised the fragment of an emblem on one body. 
> 
> "Is that … Anders, were these Templars?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks if you're still reading this fic! I know I never update regularly, but I do really enjoy working on this. Hopefully you enjoy reading it too. :)

Hawke was whistling off-key to herself as she made her way to the Hanged Man. It was Tuesday and Tuesday meant that she could make her escape to Lowtown sooner than most other days. She did not have to spend the morning answering simpering noble's letters, or taking noble callers at the door. Her mother always turned them away, stating that her daughter's time was occupied with  _private family business._  

Well, her mother wasn't wrong. Everything Hawke did was for the betterment and protection of her family – along with all the refugees, homeless and downtrodden that she could find. 

She pushed open the door to the Hanged Man, her whistle faltering as she heard the voices before she saw the figures. 

"… Calm down, Blondie. She'll be here soon!" She recognised Varric's familiar Kirkwall accent and began to hurry, sensing she was needed. 

"I-I can't calm down! You, you don't understand, I just-" 

"Hawke!" 

"Varric," she said in greeting before turning to the tall blond man beside the dwarf, who was jittering like a hyped-up puppy. "Anders? What's wrong?" 

"Thank goodness you're here!" He grasped her hands, amber eyes wide and panicked. Hawke took a deep breath and nodded for him to continue. "I-I need your help. Please. At my clinic. Now."

His words were messy, faltering and tripping over each other. Hawke squeezed his hands in reassurance. 

"I'm not going anywhere until you calm down a bit more, hmm? Take a few deep breaths, Anders."

"There's no time!" His voice rose, hysteria lacing every word. "Please, I'll do whatever it takes! I'll join your gang, whatever you want! Please, just help me!" 

"Okay, okay. Of course I'll help-" 

With those simple words of agreement, Anders had heard all he needed. He rushed towards the door, dragging her along behind him. Hawke let out a small yelp before looking over her shoulder. 

"Varric, come on!"

"Right behind you, Hawke." 

Anders practically raced them into Darktown. Hawke's mind was whirring, trying to figure out what could possibly be wrong, but it was only when his clinic came into view that her heart began to sink. 

"Oh, no."

The glass door had a crack straight down through the centre of the glass. Anders did not slow, shoving the door open and leading them straight in to the wreckage of his clinic. 

Her jaw hung open, eyes wide as she drank it all in. The cracked floor, the black marks from magical lightning, the twisted figures locked in horrific rigors. Hawke stared at them, her shock deepening as she recognised the fragment of an emblem on one body. 

"Is that … Anders, were these Templars?" 

He nodded, raking his hands through his hair as he spun and stared at it all helplessly. Varric swore behind them. 

"They'll be coming for me, now. I didn't mean to … I only wanted … Hawke, please. What do I do now?" 

She straightened her shoulders, her intelligent mind already racing for solutions. 

"First of all you need to sit and you need to tell me everything that happened. Everything." 

He complied, trembling endlessly and knee bouncing madly as he perched on a work stool and began to speak. Hawke listened carefully, waiting until he fell silent and drew in a ragged breath before saying anything in response. 

"Where are they now? The two elf children, what happened to them?"

"I … I don't know." Anders looked around now, searching for them. "I healed them and left them here. They must have run off by now. Oh, they were terrified. I only wanted to help them." 

"Varric?" 

"On it," came the reply. Varric slung his unique shotgun over his shoulder and exited the clinic. 

"If they're still close by, Varric will find them," Hawke said confidently. "Now, explain your magic to me." 

"My magic?" Anders echoed and she nodded. 

"How do you become so enraged that you lose control – a control you work hard to keep, if I recall – to the point that you reduce two full-fledged Templars to lumps of charcoal?" 

Anders squirmed on the stool, his eyes lowering in shame. 

"What I'm about to tell you … is private. Most people wouldn't understand and would be afraid of me, so I'm trusting you with this."

Hawke narrowed her eyes and resisted the urge to fold her arms, knowing it would make her look closed off to him. 

"Alright. What is it?" 

"I … have a spirit of Justice … living inside me." He met her gaze and Hawke felt one corner of her mouth wanting to quirk up in ill-timed humour. She forced it to stay still; now was not the time. 

"What does that mean?" she asked instead. 

"It means that my body is not always my own. He's a Fade spirit and I met him some years ago, trapped outside of the Fade. He was dying – but he was good spirit, not a demon like you must think! I became a willing host for him and saved his life. But like I said, he's a spirit of  _Justice_ , so he gets very upset over injustices." 

"Like two young mages being attacked by two Templars," Hawke said and Anders nodded. She sighed, looking a way for a moment to try and process this. 

"You wilfully became possessed." She watched the words strike him like blows, but instead of weakening his resolve, she watched Anders draw himself up straighter, jaw setting stubbornly. 

"I don't regret what I did. It was the right thing at the time. Only … Fade spirits were never meant to live in human bodies. Sometimes his power is beyond what I can control." 

"That's what I saw the other day, isn't it? When you glowed blue?" 

Anders nodded and instead of feeling repulsed or horrified, Hawke only felt satisfied. This piece of the puzzle that was Anders had fallen into place, and now a smile did quirk her mouth. 

"Thank you for telling me. I understand doubly your fears of the Templars now!" He snorted and nodded. "But, one question. Why Kirkwall? This is probably the worst city in Thedas for Templar power and mage oppression. Why would you come here when it's so dangerous for you?" 

Anders offered a weak smile. 

"It's Justice. He's drawn to the unjust things of the world. He wants to fix them. So here I am, helping in the best way I know how." 

Ah, there it was. The opening she had been looking for, her last chance to sway his mind in her favour. 

"You can help more than this, Anders.  _I_  can help you help more than this. I don't think you quite understand how powerful my organisation is. Join us and find out. See for yourself how we can fight the injustices in this city. And then, join the fight yourself." 

He was staring at her, gaze slightly awed and Hawke knew her powerful blue eyes were working in her favour again. Anders abruptly looked away for a moment and when he looked back, there was a receding glow of blue in his gaze. 

"Very well. I accept the position of healer for your organisation." Hawke grinned in delight. "As long as I can continue my clinic." 

"Of course," agreed Hawke. "I'm not about to take you away from that. We both know how much the people down here need someone like you. As healer for my crew, you will be a consultant. We'll come to you whenever we need you and we'll keep you better supplied and better funded than you've ever been before." 

Anders nodded but said no more – his mind was clearly elsewhere, nerves still rattled, and Hawke did not push him. Varric chose that moment to re-enter the clinic, two terrified children trying to hide behind his back. 

It kind of defeated the purpose when they were both taller than him. 

"Found these two just around the corner. They confirmed his story. Said the Templars came for them while they were begging for food. Poor kids." A tender expression crossed Varric's face as he looked back at the children. Their wide eyes were fixed on Anders, fearful and trembling. 

"He's not going to hurt you," Hawke said, squatting down before them and offering a reassuring smile. "Anders didn't want to hurt you. He only wanted to protect you from the Templars. And you don't need to worry about them, either. You're safe now." To Varric, she said, "Call Merrill. She can take care of these two for now. Then call in a clean-up team. We need this dealt with before word gets out – quickly and quietly." 

"You got it, Hawke." The dwarf pulled his phone out and quickly dialled a number. 

"And as for you," Hawke said as she turned back to Anders, "get your things. You can't stay here while the clean-up team is working, so you'll stay at the Hanged Man. Give you a chance to get to know the rest of the crew, anyway." 

He nodded, breathing out slowly and looking up with a calmer expression than before. Yet Hawke was not fooled; she could still see the tremble in his hands. 

"What will you do with …" He motioned to the charred Templar remains on the floor. 

"We have contingency plans in place for situations like this, don't worry. It's not the first time we've had to dispose of the odd Templar. Now come on, do you need a hand with your things?" 

He shook his head and Hawke let him go. Anders wavered a little as he headed straight out to the back room but kept his footing. Sighing, Hawke turned and looked around the clinic. 

What a mess! This would be hard to clean up and even harder to keep quiet! She was sure by now that a street ruffian or two would have spread word of the incident, which meant getting Varric's spies to counteract the rumours. Not to mention that covering up the deaths of two Templars was far more difficult than she made it sound. One Templar here or there could easily be ascribed to accidents but this … 

She sighed again and rubbed her temple as Varric's low voice rumbled on. It would be much simpler to abandon Anders to his fate. That would be the pragmatic thing to do, Carver would say. It would avoid the taxing of her time, resources and finances. 

Yet Hawke was not her brother. No matter how difficult or stressful it would be to help Anders, she would do it without question. 

The mage in question returned shortly after, a ratty and torn duffel bag slung over his shoulder. Hawke offered him a light smile, pushing her concerns to the back of her mind. Right now, all she had to do was look after Anders. Varric was in charge of the initial crisis response at this point. He would report back as soon as there was anything to tell and she would formulate the next step from there. 

"Come on, let's get you back to the Hanged Man. Something tells me you could use a drink." 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke snorted, on eyebrow arched in disapproval. 
> 
> "This Justice sounds like a downright jerk."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can I get a hell yeah for 8 months between updates?? ..No? Well. I should have expected that..

The chaotic atmosphere of the Hanged Man grated on Anders' raw nerves as he followed Hawke through the establishment. Even this early in the day patrons drank and laughed; someone kicked at the ancient jukebox in the corner, trying to convince it to work. Marian led him straight past it all and up a staircase tucked against the back wall.

"In here," she said and he sighed in relief as the raucous noises from below faded away. Anders took a seat at the long table before him, duffel bag hitting the floor and head falling into his hands. Pain throbbed through his temples and his limbs still trembled – whether from exhaustion or panic or a combination of both, he could not quite tell. 

"This is Varric's suite. You'll be staying next door but I figured we should wait here for now. It's quieter than down there and no-one enters unless they're part of the crew." 

Hawke walked over to a locked cabinet against the wall. Anders watched through dull eyes as she picked the lock with ease and drew a couple of thick-glassed bottles out. She locked the cabinet again, snagged a couple of glasses from on top of it then approached the table to sit across from him. 

"Don't worry," Hawke said as she opened the first bottle and poured him a drink. "It doesn't taste anything like what they serve downstairs. This is Varric's private stash. And he had excellent taste." 

Anders could not dredge up even a boring comment, let alone a witty reply. He accepted the glass and lifted it to his lips, teeth clinking against the glass as his hand shook. Hawke opened her mouth to say something but he knocked the alcohol back in one swift gulp. It burned down his throat and spread a pleasant warmth through his gut. Anders exhaled slowly, watching his hand to see when the tremors would still. 

"Do you always end up as weak as this?" Hawke asked bluntly and he finally lifted his eyes to hers. "After you lose control to Justice, I mean." 

He tried to smile but it felt more like a grimace. Anders dropped his gaze to the lingering dregs of amber liquid in his glass. 

"It depends," he said in a low voice. "I haven't lost control like that in a while, so … Normally I can handle it better." 

Hawke said nothing but topped up his glass. Anders found himself smirking in amusement. 

"You know this is wasted on me, right?" He lifted his glass. "I can't get drunk. Justice doesn't let me. It simply doesn't happen. Maybe you should save it for someone who can make use of it." 

Anders pushed the glass away but Hawke pushed it straight back.

"Getting drunk is not the point of having a drink. Enjoying the drink is. So as long as you don't dislike it, I don't consider it to be wasted." 

Anders hesitated, thoughts conflicted. 

_This is a distraction, a drug that tries to weaken. You should not indulge!  _

"Well … It is very good whiskey." 

The burn of alcohol down his throat was pleasant this time, the lingering aftertaste sweet. But Anders winced as the pain in his head sharpened; Justice could be petty at times. 

"Aren't you a healer?" 

He looked up at Hawke in confusion. She was watching him with those bright blue eyes, calmly sipping at her own drink. 

"What?" 

"You're obviously in pain. Headache, right? Why don't you just heal it?" 

_Such ignorance._

"It's not exactly something that magic can heal," Anders explained. "It's Justice. Sharing a body with him like this … Sometimes it hurts."  

Hawke snorted, on eyebrow arched in disapproval. 

"This Justice sounds like a downright jerk." 

Anders smiled but offered nothing more. They lingered in the quiet of Varric's suite, muted sounds of the pub below filtering through the floor. After some time Anders realised his hands had stopped trembling. He heaved a deep breath and rubbed a hand across his face. 

"What happens now?" he asked, voice sounding more like himself than he felt. "What do I need to do?" 

"Nothing, for the moment," replied Hawke. "I'll get Varric to put a rush on organising some papers for you. And a cover story. He's the best at those. Oh, and we'll have to organise a blocker for you, just in case you're scanned. But those are all things for my crew. All you have to do is rest, Anders." 

"But surely there's something-" 

The door to the suite flung open and Anders flinched, hard. His chair crashed as he leapt to his feet, power crackling in his hands and eyes blazing with Fade energy. The intruding woman faltered, expression caught between one of surprise and intrigue, followed by mild recognition. 

"Have I met you before? Something about all … this … seems very familiar," she said and gestured to his body. Hawke groaned but Anders did not tear his eyes away from this intruder, heart racing madly in his chest. 

"Isabela, please. Do you have to flirt with everything that breathes?" 

"Oh that's rich, coming from you, Hawke!" retorted the woman. "I'm not the only one who knows how to use her womanly wiles to get what she wants." She looked Anders up and down, smirked and tapped her chin with a finger. "Let me guess. Fereldan?" 

A sudden memory passed through Anders' mind. One lonely, wild night, years ago after a successful escape. His eyes widened and the raw magic disappeared from his hands. 

"You were at the Pearl!" he said and the woman's face lit up in delight. 

"Oh, now I remember! You were that runaway mage who could do that electricity thing. My, my, Hawke. You're certainly keeping better company these days." She stepped close into Anders' space, her eyes hungry as they ran over his form. 

"Isabela, what do you want?" asked Hawke in a tired voice. 

"Many things," she said without taking her eyes off Anders, her tone low and sultry. 

"Bela!" 

"Fine." The voluptuous woman turned away from Anders, rolling her eyes before explaining herself. "Fenris and I had a run-in with some slavers this morning. Nothing major but in the process, his blocker was broken. We had to run from a Templar who sensed him, so there's probably a bounty out for him now." 

"But he's okay?" Hawke asked and Isabela nodded. 

"He's back in Hightown. But he needs a new blocker before he's willing to leave again." 

"And I suppose we'll have to do something about that bounty. It's not as though he has enough bounties on his head as it is." Hawke stood and moved to another locked cabinet. It was picked with ease and she pulled something out, tossing it to Isabela. "That's all we've got left on hand at the moment and it's not very powerful but it should get him through the rest of the week. You know, we wouldn't keep having this problem if he would just let us implant the blocker." 

"And you know why he refuses, sweet thing," Isabela replied with a light chiding tone. Hawke sighed ruefully. 

"You're right. Sorry. Tell him I'll take care of the bounty, as well." 

The chatter was so casual that Anders found himself relaxing. Righting his chair and sinking back into it, he nursed his drink and let the conversation roll over him. His head still throbbed and his eyelids drooped – but there was a certain sensation of security winding its way around him. 

He jumped when a hand slid across his shoulder. 

"As for you, let me know if you're ever looking for some company. I'm sure we could stir up some of that fun we had back at the Pearl, hmm?" Isabela was grinning wickedly at him and on another day, Anders would have been flirting straight back. She was harmless, wanting nothing more than to indulge with no strings attached. Yet today Anders could only muster a smile that felt more like a glorified grimace. 

"Bye, Bela," Hawke said pointedly and the woman chuckled, swaying her hips as she exited the suite and closed the door behind her. "Anders? Are you okay?" 

It was a struggle to focus his eyes on her. Her face blurred before him and Anders managed to shake his head, not trusting himself to speak. The throbbing in his head was making his stomach churn more than he cared to admit.

"Come on, I think perhaps you'd better lie down now after all." Her words sounded far away but suddenly she was there before him, pulling the glass from his hand and steadying his shoulders. "Can you walk? Please say yes – I don't think I'm strong enough to carry you."

A snort escaped him at that mental image and he nodded. Hawke pulled his arm over her shoulders and helped him to stand. Despite the pounding in his skull and the queasiness in his gut, Anders could not help but notice how short Hawke actually was. Well, average height, he supposed. He was tall himself and her head almost reached his chin.

"Don't make me do all the work," she said and he remembered he was meant to be walking.

"Right," he muttered, forcing his legs to obey. Slowly, Hawke led him out of Varric's suite and into the next room. It was dark and a little dusty but Anders barely noticed; all he saw was the bed complete with blankets and thick pillow.

He staggered the last couple of steps and let himself collapse face-first onto the mattress. A satisfied groan escaped him and Anders wondered how long it had been since he had last indulged in a _proper bed_.

"I'll leave you to it, then. Try to stay upstairs but if you really need something, the bartender, Corff, will be able to help you. I'll be in and out a bit, so …"

Anders tried to focus on the words, he really did. Hawke had a nice voice and he enjoyed listening to it. But the mattress was softer than the cot at his clinic, the pillow so much thicker than the jacket he normally used. And he was tired, so very tired.

He fell asleep with thoughts of Hawke still filling his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments give me life <3


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke looked up, an expression of pure innocence painted on her face as she met the blunt gaze in front of her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is! Later than I intended but life is funny like that.
> 
> A HUGE thanks to everyone on Tumblr who helped me with brainstorming a phrase for this chapter! All your input was phenomenal and helped me so much! <3

"What is this?"

Paper slammed down in front of her, pinned by a fist that was trying not to be as aggressive as it seemed. Hawke looked up, an expression of pure innocence painted on her face as she met the blunt gaze in front of her.

"Seems to be an official Guard report, to me. With your signature, too!"

"Don't play games, Hawke! You have no right to go around fabricating stories – about Templars, no less – nor to forge my signature on official documents!"

"To be fair, the entire document is a forgery, so-"

"Hawke! We've discussed this before! I can only overlook so much but as Guard Captain, I _will not_ overlook the blatant forgery of my own signature, especially when used _in conjunction_ to a matter involving Templars! Do you really want to bring the wrath of the Knight-Commander down upon me?"

Hawke sighed and shrugged, trying to look remorseful.

"What can I say? I tried to find you at the Barracks but Donnic said you were in official meetings with the Viscount or something. I couldn't wait that long, so I just went ahead and made the document. Or rather, Varric did. But! It hasn't been published yet! That's why it's in your hands now and not already filed on the database. Aveline, I wanted you to see it first. To give it your approval and to make sure we hadn't missed anything."

The woman before her heaved a groan and rubbed her face before shaking her head in disbelief.

"After all this time, I still cannot believe the trouble you drag me into."

Aveline yanked out the chair opposite Hawke and sank into it. Letting that impish grin win across her face, Hawke reached out to daringly pat Aveline on the head – earning herself a sharp glare – before taking the piece of paper and scanning it over.

"So? What do you think? Will the Templars buy this story?"

It was a simple cover story they had constructed. Varric had an incredible flair for such things and Hawke normally left these tasks to him with no questions asked. But with two dead Templars on their hands, she wanted a bit more reassurance than usual.

Aveline took the paper back, scowling at it.

"What, will they believe that two of their own died in a terrible fire at one of the foundries? Sounds sketchy at a first glance. But why were the Templars there in the first place? Oh, that's right! They just happened to be passing when the blaze went up and they ran in to save as many as they could! How altruistic." Aveline dropped the paper and scoffed. "Yeah right."

"And here I thought I was meant to be the sarcastic one," Hawke commented.

"Obviously you're more of a bad influence than you realise," Aveline shot back. She folded the piece of paper and shoved it in a pocket. "I never expected you to paint the Templars as the heroes, in any circumstance. What made you do that here?"

"It wasn't my idea," Hawke said with a grimace. "That was all Varric. Said that the Templars will be less inclined to investigate if the ones that died are portrayed favourably in the public eye. But I still hate it. All it's going to do is sway more people towards liking them and we really don't need that!"

"But if it keeps the Order and Meredith off your back …"

"Exactly." Hawke sighed. "So I don't have to like it but I have to admit it's our best option."

Aveline shook her head and sighed. Hawke knew her friend was wrestling with her own convictions when her lips thinned and her finger tapped on the table between them.

"I assume that the foundry in this report has already been burnt to the ground?"

"Of course. You know we don't do things by half measures."

"Maker forbid. I might actually get some real Guard work done if that happened." Aveline stood then, tucking the chair under the table in a reflex action that never failed to amuse Hawke. Even after all they had been through, Aveline remembered her manners. "Alright Hawke, I'll allow it. This time! But try and slide another report like this past my nose and I will hang you out to dry."

"Duly noted," Hawke said, knowing it was nothing but bluster. No matter how she complained and nagged, Aveline was fiercely loyal to Hawke. "Varric is still at the foundry, if you want to check out the scene for yourself. He can go over any finer details of the story that you might need."

"Thanks." Aveline paused, a frown crossing her face. Hawke tilted her head curiously; it wasn't like Aveline to withhold her thoughts. "Just … this apostate. Is he really worth it, Hawke? You're putting a lot of time and money on the line for someone you hardly know."

"You know me, Aveline. I love a good tragic apostate project," she joked. Aveline stared at her, waiting for a more serious answer, but broke before Hawke did.

"Fine. Just be careful. You can't trust everyone simply because they're Fereldan."

"Really? I guess I'll have to re-evaluate my methods."

"If only. Are we still on for tomorrow night?"

"Yes! Mother's making that casserole you love. She's been talking about it all week."

"Wonderful. I look forward to seeing her again."

The conversation devolved into pleasantries before Aveline offered a farewell and exited the Hanged Man. Hawke rocked back on her chair as she pulled her phone out and checked it for messages.

Merrill had texted to say the two elf children were safely settling in with a foster family in the alienage. Varric had sent one complaining about how much work he did for Hawke and that he definitely deserved a raise. She sniggered and hastily typed out a snarky reply to him, before glancing to the staircase at the back of pub.

Hours had passed since Anders collapsed in the room beside Varric's suite. Hawke hadn't seen anything of him since then but she hadn't expected to, either. She'd been running damage control the entire time and was only now feeling as though they had things well enough in hand to relax.

Maybe she should go check on him, make sure he was alright and that his buddy Justice hadn't smothered him in his sleep. Her face twisted; it was a weak excuse at best but she had never let those stop her in the past. If she wanted something, she went for it. So Hawke stood, face set in determination as–

Her phone buzzed in her hand and a frustrated sigh escaped her. Bethany was calling. She frowned. Bethany rarely ever called, preferring to send her obnoxious text messages full of so many emojis that Hawke almost needed a Masters degree in linguistics to interpret it.

"Beth?" she said as she quickly answered the call.

"Hi Marian!" came her sister's far-too-cheery voice. "Just checking how you were going with those errands. Mother and I thought you'd be back by now. Oh and on top of that, there's a gentleman here asking after you. Ser Alrik, I believe."

Hawke swore low under her breath. This was the last thing she needed right now.

"Of course, Bethany. Tell the _gentleman_ I'll be there within the hour. And Beth? Don't let yourself be alone in the room with him. Don't."

Bethany gave a light laugh, more for the effect of those around her than Hawke's benefit.

"You don't need to remind me." The tone was teasing but Hawke knew the true message Bethany was conveying to her. "I'll let him know. See you soon, Marian."

Hawke fled the Hanged Man, shooting a warning text to Varric and one to Fenris, too. She might be overreacting. Ser Alrik might be truly making a social call, nothing more.

Yeah right.

She sent a message to Aveline as well, just in case, then shoved her phone in her back pocket and thundered up the steps that led to her family estate's secret entrance. The estate had more than one concealed passage and she was grateful now that the Hanged Man was close to one of them.

Sneaking quietly into the house, she peered around corners to make sure the room was clear before stealing up to her bedroom. No time for a shower, not to mention Ser Alrik might hear the water running. Hawke scrubbed the red paint from her face, shucked her clothes and scrambled for something more suitable.

She hated dresses, she really did. Too restrictive around the chest, too flowing around the legs. How was she meant to run or fight or climb in a dress? Not all fights were fought on the streets, her mother liked to remind her. Some were duels of war that occurred over a dining table, full of scathing glares and aloof head turns.

Hawke really did not have the subtlety for such interactions. Yet she tried her hardest, for it was needed from time to time. As a member of Kirkwall's elite upper class, she had to be ready for anything. Her tongue was certainly sharp but far too often she delivered a blunt offense when a backhanded one was expected.

"Nothing else for it," she muttered to herself as she examined herself in a mirror, smoothing down the front of her dress. Her fingers combed her hair into something neater and a quick application of makeup completed the look.

Gone was the rough and tumble woman from Lowtown who taunted Templars. In her place was a graceful young lady who carried herself with pride and assurance.

Ser Alrik would recognise her, there was no doubting that. They had never met in social politeness and even though this meeting would certainly throw a spanner in the works, Hawke was not too concerned. Her family was too powerful now. Alrik could not accuse her of anything without solid proof. And even if he did, Hawke would always play dumb.

Taking a deep breath, she snuck out a side entrance of the estate. Smoothing her expression into a pleasant one, Hawke struck out onto the main road and strode fearlessly up to the front of the estate.

The gate opened before she could reach it. Hawke turned aside on impulse. Four Templars exited, Ser Alrik's face one of furious frustration as he strode at the front. His words were sharp and aggressive as he spoke to someone on his phone. Hawke held her breath; would he see her?

"… There's no way a foundry fire is anything but a suspicious circumstance! I cannot believe it was innocent-" His jaw snapped shut, teeth grinding together. The other Templars with him said nothing as they approached the Order truck they had left parked on the street. Alrik climbed in the front passenger seat as a Knight-Corporal rushed around to the driver's seat.

"What about the bodies?" Alrik demanded. "Have they been seen by our medical examiner yet? I don't believe that a fire-"

His voice was drowned out as he shut the car door and the engine started. Hawke kept moving, past the Amell estate as though she was headed elsewhere. She waited until the truck had disappeared from view before turning back and hurriedly entering her home.

"Bethany?" she called out, worry lacing her voice.

"In here!"

A sigh of relief escaped her as she saw her sister, brother and mother in the front sitting room. Bethany came to greet her and Hawke pulled her into a tight hug.

"What happened? What did he want?" she demanded but Bethany only shrugged.

"He wouldn't say. Just insisted that he needed to see you regarding a matter of grave importance. He wouldn't talk to Mother, either."

"And those other Templars, were they in here with him?"

"Only one of them," Carver answered, his tone grim and his arms folded over his chest. "I demanded to know who was calling on my sister then insisted that he leave his lackies outside."

"He didn't say it quite like that," Bethany muttered and Hawke felt the corner of her mouth quirk up.

"What a relief. But then he just left? Did he give a reason?"

"No, actually. He just answered a phone call then his face went white, then red, and he left. The other Templar with him was the one who apologised and excused them but Ser Alrik was already out the door by then."

"Small mercies," Hawke sighed. "I heard some of the phone call as they left. Aveline must have uploaded the report to the database, because Alrik was yelling about a fire at a foundry."

"Huh. At least something good came from helping that healer, then," Carver remarked and Hawke nodded.

"But it still begs the question. If Alrik was not here about those two dead Templars, why was he here?"

A tense silence fell over the siblings as they each pondered the question. Leandra was the one to break the quiet, standing up and heading for door out of the sitting room.

"I think I've heard far too much about what you three do than I need to know. Just remember to be careful and look out for each other." Leandra called out to Bodahn as she left, informing him that if ever Ser Alrik was to come calling again, he was to be refused entrance due to his poor manners and subsequent offending of the Amell family.

"Oh that reminds me. Bodahn!" Hawke strode out to find him in the foyer.

"Messere Hawke! I did not hear you return."

"I need some more blockers, Bodahn. Fenris broke his again and we've got a new apostate in the crew. Spirit healer, so I'm thinking he'll need something strong. Can you and Sandal handle that?"

"Of course, messere," Bodahn said with a sweeping bow. "You know how much of a whiz my boy is with those things. We'll have a new supply for you by the end of the week."

"Just what I was hoping to hear," Hawke said with a wide grin. Her mind was racing on to other things as soon as Bodahn turned away. One problem taken care of. But there was still a pile of other problems stacked in front of her. All it would take was for one to tip, and the whole lot would come crashing down.


End file.
